


Trust Me

by lactoria



Category: Little Nemo in Slumberland, Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland (1989)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lactoria/pseuds/lactoria
Summary: Trouble has found its way back into your bed.





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Flip and Nemo's likenesses are loosely based on this lovely re-imagining: http://malicekisho.deviantart.com/art/Trust-ME-455770782
> 
> Set sail, little tugboat of a ship. I salute you.

Childhood slips so far away in the melee of maturity and growing pains that it almost feels like a dream in itself–a series of blurred out of recognition on the carousel of life. There and gone, those moments turned to memories, faded by time. Where does the time go but into the background, farther and farther into the recesses of your mind until you’ve forgotten altogether. Maybe it was all a dream. But you keep on sleeping, and you keep on waking, but somewhere in between you’re dreaming, just like you always have.

You appreciate your bed far more now as a young adult than you did as a restless child. In fact, you hate leaving it most mornings. But age has not spoiled your penchant for fun or creativity; your room is a testament to that. Cutout stars bounce off the walls projected by a panoply of dancing lights trapped in a spinning orb, casting intriguing shadows off the many planes and hot air balloon replicas hanging from the ceiling. You smash your cheek into your pillow and watch the shapes frolic. Your mind wanders along the fringes of your memory, groping about for familiarity, for a clear thought you can pluck from the ether. You know the tune of the song, but you can’t remember the words–not until you fall asleep. And when you do, you’re never aware that you are, and when you do you’re somewhere else, where dragons lead chariots and your bed sprouts legs taller than buildings and the moon tries to swallow you.

_WAKE UP._

The sign tucked into Flip’s hat flashes your vision blind for a split second before you’re plunged back into darkness, floating in that ambiguous mind-muddle interim incapable of distinguishing one plane from the next. 

Dry-mouthed, tangled in sheets, pinned by an unforeseen force, you dimly register the weight of something climbing upon your bed. It’s easy enough to dismiss it as a dream stupor hallucination–that is, until it settles its weight upon you, and the waft of cigar smoke drags you back to the surface with a gasping inhale.

Eyes that glow, toxic and full of heat, pull you into the whirlpool, suck you back into the dream, but it isn’t your own. It’s the playground you used to sneak away to, tempted time and again by delicious promises behind a curled finger.

Trouble has found its way back into your bed, and you can’t form words, especially when his rasping voice tickles your ear.

“Still wearing the same stupid pajamas?” His hands cleave the barrier between the sheets and your clothes, skin all feverishly hot. You shiver, now understanding that this searing spike of emotion he stabs through you is desire. The both of you know it; Flip’s smile could peel your _stupid pajamas_ clean off you. You never really minded getting in trouble when it was with him, your devilish shadow, your nightmare-half.  He’s dangerous, and it thrills you.

“She never knew what ta do with ya.  _I_ know exactly what excites you.” He moves like a serpent, undulating, ensnaring you in his coils. His lips twist into a ferociously predatory rictus as his grip tightens and before he seals his lips against yours, he whispers firmly into them,

“Trust me.”


End file.
